


Crossfaded

by ThoughtsCascade



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: A few phrases in Italian, Alcohol, Angst, Book: The Missy Chronicles, Crossdressing, Dressing for the time period, Drunkeness, F/F, False Allegations of Sexual Assault, Gen, Ginger - Freeform, Jail, Memory Issues, Panic Attacks, Paranoia, References to The Missy Chronicles, The Doctor (Doctor Who) is a Mess, Unclear thoughts, Unreliable POV Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:02:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26003872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThoughtsCascade/pseuds/ThoughtsCascade
Summary: The Doctor is running, equally from her own demons and those who have spent lifetimes chasing her. She'd thought one visit to see Missy and understand where it had all gone wrong would be fine. This time, however, she is thoroughly unprepared, and the sight of Missy had her spiraling. Fast.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor & Missy
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19
Collections: Thoschei Prompt Exchange 2020





	Crossfaded

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FictionPenned](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionPenned/gifts).



The Doctor pulled her top hat low, in her evening best. Silk waistcoat due to material shortages in this time period, ascot, the works. Hat tilted low to hide her face, layers upon layers the way she’d taught Susan and Vicki and Polly, among others, enough to hide that extra bulk and blend in, though this was her first time using the trick for herself. She was sure she passed at a glance, and she hadn’t plans to speak with anyone. The long hair and lack of iron her face would be seen as abnormalities, but there was nothing she could do about that. The hair could be cut, maybe, but it hid her earring, not to mention her face. This was only a temporary jaunt, she didn’t usually feel such a need to lose herself. Couldn’t, in front of the humans. She was keeping the longer hair.

Keeping her head down seemed to work for the most part. She realized a good ten minutes away from the TARDIS that she’d forgotten to transfer the contents of her pockets in her haste, perhaps she’d gotten her checklist misaligned when she’d asked the TARDIS to let people hear her words as Italian and for her ship to give her the proper currency, but it was fine. She would be fine. She wasn’t a child in need of a comfort object in her sonic. She wasn’t here for trouble. And everyone forgot things on occasion. It didn’t mean anything. 

She made her way around the city, buying some ginger humbugs and being given a small selection of whiskey ones for free with her purchase, as the vendor was trying a new flavour. Lovely. The smog made it difficult to breathe, or perhaps the layers, but the burn in her lungs reminded her of running, and it was a sensation she was overly familiar with. Certainly more of a home than anything else now, except perhaps her TARDIS. 

All was well until she quite literally ran into someone. Someone wearing a _very_ familiar shade of purple. No need to panic. “ _Dispiace signorina_ ,” she muttered in apology, voice lowered though she doubted it was masculine enough, as her height was just too tall to pass as a youth in this century. 

Not to mention, _she’d_ always been the one better at detecting others of their species. Not that the Doctor was the same species as her. She wondered for a moment how that had ever worked in the first place then brushed it off. 

Oddly enough, it seemed to be the words which tipped her off, rather than anything else, recognition dawning in her eyes. “ _You_!”

The Doctor was certain her hearts weren’t beating quite so rapidly moments ago, and she stumbled back.

“You foiled my plans!”

Ah. Perhaps the Doctor shouldn’t have gone Italian, even if having just left there to catch a glimpse of Missy and put an alteration in the timeline to rights was what had given her the idea in the first place. That had been planned. This _hadn’t_. 

“Scusi?” She knew the ruse was up, but she’d clung to lies much longer. And there was a chance that Missy didn’t know, if she hadn’t called her by her name. She knew Missy, knew she wouldn’t memorize the face of a random curator. If she didn’t recognize the Doctor from presence alone- and how could she? They weren’t the _same_ , not in any sense of the word. Not as she’d once thought. Maybe she could pretend to be a- fuck, not a hapless Italian, given that they’d met in a time period which distinctly wasn’t this one, but maybe a Time Agent. Maybe-

“I know who you are. Killed your assistant. Twice.”

The Doctor backed away further. She hadn’t actually known the man, he’d been a regular museum employee she’d tricked into thinking she was an expert- well, in some senses she was an expert. Expert in nearly everything, she was. 

Except, apparently, a calm facade, given that Missy had stopped glaring and- oh, another thing she most definitively wasn’t an expert in, reading Missy’s expressions. She was so much _colder_ than the selves on either side of her… if this Master she’d just met was, in fact, after her. 

Great, now she was doubting even that. “When are you from?”

Missy blinked at her slowly. She’d spent nearly a century straight with this woman, grown up with her- or at least, watched her grow up- and yet she had no clue what Missy was thinking. “Haven’t given you my present yet, dear. Well, not _you_ \- you. The one before him? Or are you further ahead than that? Either way, glad you finally got the upgrade.”

“No, I- who was your last self?” The Doctor backed away further, prepared to run.

“Blond and dying, you know this.”

“No one in between you?” She hated how desperate she was, knew it must be leaking through- the Master had always been a bloodhound when it came to sensing any sort of suffering.

“No. Why are you backing away? Come closer. I won't bite.”

The Doctor couldn’t have said whether or not she was relieved for that development, couldn’t have said much of _anything._ She continued backing away, feeling rather like a caged animal as Missy kept advancing.

Before the Doctor knew what had happened, they were down a dark alleyway, and her back was against a wall. Ridiculous. She had no reason to feel this way- she was older, so much older than Missy knew. Stronger, she was sure, she was built for speed more than strength but Missy wasn’t built for either. Wiser. She wasn’t the one who used the same allies despite being betrayed time and time again. She knew how to let go. She did.

“Doctor-”

Missy might not bite, but the Doctor _did_ , flinching away from the arm reaching toward her, to trap her- _why only one? Didn’t matter, this was the Master and she couldn’t ever trust the Master_ \- and biting it instead, hard enough she could quickly taste blood even through the dress. 

She took advantage of Missy’s shock to run, bursting out of the alleyway. 

Unfortunately, Missy chased after her. That on its own wouldn’t be so bad, but Missy was smart enough, clear-headed enough, to realize she’d never catch the Doctor, it seemed. Which was probably why the Doctor shouldn’t have been so surprised.

Somehow Missy had managed to tear her dress and bring some tears into her eyes as well. Well, that proved her last self wrong, about how genuine Missy had been being in the Vault. As if there was any doubt, considering what he’d done after regenerating. “Help! That man, the Italian, with the long blonde hair, he- he took me into the alley and he-!” She broke off into a sob, but between the torn dress and some bruises Missy had somehow managed to obtain, it very much looked like-

 _Fuck_.

Before the Doctor knew it, she was getting mobbed by people eager to bring her to justice. 

She fought. She knew she wouldn’t be proud of it later, she who preached pacifism and talking things out, but at the moment her only concern was getting away, returning to her TARDIS and getting far, far away from Missy. She whirled and punched and kicked, but although she was stronger than the average human she was surrounded and outnumbered.

So she found herself in jail. Lovely, great, brilliant, perfect. Fine, it was- it was _fine_ , she’d escaped much worse prisons with much less, she was certain. 

She tried her best to remember how far England had progressed with women’s rights at this point, how easy it would be to sway people into believing Missy was a wife or a sister or someone she’d have the right to do whatever she wanted to. Tried to think about if Missy would disappear or stay. Usually she would have known, she was certain, but her head was spinning and _everyone had occasional lapses in memory, it was_ **fine**. 

She was just… more aware than usual, because of the Matrix and what the Master had told her. Nothing to worry about. There was plenty she forgot all the time, it was-

She could probably just slip out. One lazy guard sitting at a desk- or she could-

What the Doctor ended up doing was chewing and swallowing a ginger humbug, quietly as she could, then tucked a whiskey one under her tongue. If she could convince them she was drunk… the ginger one would actually get her drunk, since it would take a lot of human alcohol to get her to that point, more than it’d take even the sturdiest humans. The whiskey one would make sure her breath smelt of the intoxication.

Perhaps it wasn’t strictly necessary, to have had the ginger one and have actually gotten drunk, but… in all honesty, she _really_ wanted to be drunk. The buzz might meld with the panic coursing under her skin, convert some of the jitters to a more languid sensation. 

It was moments later that Missy swanned in, saying a few words to the guard, looking deep into his eyes- oh, the Doctor knows that trick of hers very well, even if she hadn’t personally witnessed it in- in- before the War. It was fine, everyone forgot things, it was _normal_.

Then Missy saved her from her already slowing thoughts, waltzing over with the keys. Back to looking flawless, clearly the time the Doctor had been squirming in here had been spent changing, for Missy. 

The Time Lady wrinkled her nose. “Have you been _drinking_ , dear?” She tsked, shaking her head, but soon brightened, taking the Doctor’s arm. “You killed two of those men, you know.”

It had been a long time since the Doctor had known the Master well enough to distinguish truth from lies. She tended to assume the latter. Safer that way. Last time she hadn’t- well. It was for the version standing in front of her, and that had just gotten her hearts broken for the final time.

She’d feel guilt about the deaths later, whether real or fictional. 

She hated that Missy’s touch didn’t burn the same way most touches seemed to, this self. It wasn’t pleasant, by any means, but it didn’t have the Doctor feeling as if she needed to chop her own arm off to avoid it.

Just claw it up a bit, perhaps, and even that was largely situational, much as she hated to admit it.

Despite it all, she was hardly aware as Missy brought her back outside- the ginger worked fast, slowed her mind. Perhaps a bit too much, if this was a confrontation she wanted to have hopes of surviving.

Did it matter? She’d _survive_ regardless, and she wasn’t exactly attached to this body, on an emotional level. Did she care?

Yes. She wouldn’t give the Master the satisfaction of causing any more regenerations, direct or indirect. More than any other Time Lord, more than _Tecteun_ , even, the Master had taken enough from her.

“Doctor,” Missy tried again. “What happens between us? To have you like this? What- what does my next self _do_?”

She sounded heartbroken. It was a lie. Had to have been. 

“Come now, I did just save you. What’s an _eeensy_ secret between us girls?”

The Doctor grimaced. She wasn’t- she didn’t- she couldn’t deal with this. Couldn’t.

She wrenched her arm away from Missy’s grip, once again fleeing, this time not being careful of the people in the crowds, pushing when she needed, taking twists and turns because no matter the era she knows London like the back of her hand, an advantage she was near certain Missy didn’t have. Perhaps O had stayed in London, but he was after Missy, and the Doctor couldn’t recall any of Missy’s past selves having taken enough of an interest in Earth’s geography, particularly this era- 

If she couldn’t remember it, it hadn’t happened. Her memory wasn’t that bad, she was just being paranoid given the new information about how much of it was missing. 

Soon enough she slipped into her TARDIS, slamming the doors shut and locking them, looking around frantically to make sure she was alone.

Everything was too hot and spinning and she couldn’t _breathe,_ and the Doctor couldn’t tell if it was due to the running and the smog and the layers or if it was the drunkeness hitting her harder than expected, or a combination or just something else entirely-poison?-, couldn’t even focus enough to establish a proper telepathic connection with her TARDIS despite that being second nature after the thousands of years they’d had together. 

“Please,” she panted. “Somewhere safe, please, please, please please _please pleasepleaseplease-_ ”

She didn’t even bother steering her ship, when she knew her ship was more than capable of steering herself and the Doctor _couldn’t-_

They moved. Time jump only, she was fairly certain, and less than a century, at that. It was fine. Her TARDIS, she trusted.

Her TARDIS was the only person she trusted.

She began undoing the wretched layers, hands trembling until she was left in boxers and a tank top, but that didn’t help the heat or her breathing, and she had to wonder, mind darting into unfathomably dark corners.

Could she even trust her TARDIS? Her ship had never mentioned her time working for The Division, after all, perhaps even her ship wasn’t so loyal as she would like, she still couldn’t breathe, her chest hurt as it had since disembarking and perhaps it hadn't been the bindings and the smog, perhaps her ship was trying to finish her too, perhaps-

A gas filled the TARDIS, and the Doctor couldn’t help breathe it in, having long since lost herself to hyperventilating. She felt a telepathic hum in the moments before she passed out, and understood, reassured. Of course her TARDIS wouldn’t do anything to her. Panic, that was all. 

She took a few more deep, grateful breaths. She’d have to face her emotions eventually, but for now she could inhale the sleeping gas and run away for just a while longer. She might not have known as much about herself as she’d thought, but she knew she’d always been a runner. 

**Author's Note:**

> Concrit welcome!


End file.
